Trapped
by WinnerGrey
Summary: Tony gets a mysterious phone call from Ziva- now he must enlist the team's help in order to find her. But will they be able to in time?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone. This is now my....second story. My first was called Autumn- it was also a Tony/Ziva centered fic, it would be great if you could just check it out and review if you feel like it. I'm still looking for any tips on writing style/storyline.

I don't have a lot of writing experience- although I've been reading this website for about a year now- so this story might be a little rough at points. I'm planning for this to be a shortish (or maybe longish) multi-chapter fic. Give it a chance and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: Do I really need to say it?

* * *

Tony stepped out of the elevator and immediately knew the first day of the week was going to be a bad one. It was sweltering in the office- the AC must have broken. Again. Why the hell couldn't the maintenance people fix the frickin' problem? How hard can it be? McGee could probably do it in two seconds. Hell, he, Tony, could probably do it in two seconds. All you have to do is pump some cold air into a machine, maybe switch around a few wires. Right?

Tony trekked slowly over to his desk, already feeling the sweat pooling under his arms and on his back and chest. No question about it- he would definitely need to change his shirt in the next two hours. Maybe even the next hour, if the temperature outside decided to rise a little more. It was 80 degrees already- who knew how the weather would be by noon? He threw his stuff down under his desk and sat down, sat down heavily in his chair and put his head in his hands.

McGee was clacking away at his keyboard. It was possibly the most annoying sound Tony had ever heard- each keystroke was like an atomic bomb. Or maybe popcorn on the super-high setting on the microwave. Or like bubblegum. Or maybe like….a pop tart springing up from a toaster. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a pop tart right now- but only the good, strawberry frosted kind. It had been a while since he had had one of those. In fact, it had been a while since he had eaten anything. Their last case, about a marine's wife's and daughter's murderer, had lasted much too long for anyone's liking. Gibbs hadn't been thinking straight because of the circumstances, Ziva still hadn't fully recovered from Somalia, and Tony… Tony was still recovering from Ziva's lack of recovery.

"Think ya could type any louder, McGee?" Tony asked drily, imagining the taste of the strawberry frosted pop tart on his tongue.

"Actually, Tony, I think I could. " McGee replied waspishly. He proceeded to do just this. Tony was sure that when he looked up, McGee's keyboard would be bashed into the desk.

"Jesus, McGee. It was only sarcasm. You've heard of that before, right? It's when people-"

"I'm sorry, Tony. I'm just having a fight with my girlfriend. Over email." When Tony looked doubtful, McGee explained, "You know. I'm fighting with her. By email."

"No, no, McGee, I know what an email fight is, having been in many myself. I just find it hard to believe you actually have a girlfriend."

"Tony, how many times are you gonna make that joke? Do you really think I haven't heard it enough?"

"Oh, McGee. I think we both know the answer to that one, don't we?" Tony snarked. McGee rolled his eyes and logged off of his email. It was then that Tony looked over across the bullpen to Ziva's desk, and noticed it to be empty, save for the leather brown bag on her chair that signaled her sure previous arrival.

"McGee!"

"Yes, Tony?"

"You seen Ziva lately?'

"Yeah, she came in earlier this morning. You know, on time. Which you weren't."

"Very funny, McGee. Do you know where she is now?"

"No. Why would I?"

"Because you said you saw her earlier!"

"But why would that mean that I knew where she was now?"

"Well, it would make sense- you know what? Never mind. I'm gonna go look for her by myself. I don't need your help, because I am a specially trained NCIS agent with an impressive policing and detective background-"

"Alright, well, as you're searching for Ziva, I'm gonna go grab some coffee. Call me if we get any cases," McGee told Tony as he grabbed his wallet and headed towards the elevator, away from what could very well turn out to be a long Tony back story.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Tony had completely forgotten about his hunt for Ziva. His phone had rang- a new Indiana Jones ringtone- and, although it had only been a CC from some porno sight he had given his number to ages ago, he had managed to relocate his long-lost Tetris program. It had only taken him a few seconds to get sucked into a new, super-difficult level.

Just then, his phone rang. Again. God, he hated Mondays. Especially when the AC was broken. Why couldn't Gibbs just let him play/sweat in peace? It was probably a case. He would have to put down his phone, eat his now cold croissant extremely quickly so it didn't look like he had gotten a late start in front of Gibbs, unstick his sweaty legs from his sweaty seat, pack up his stuff... yup, Gibbs would be coming down the stairs from MTAC any second now. Jeez, this was going to have to be a hurried breakfast.

But as Tony glanced down at his caller ID, he noticed the call wasn't from Gibbs, but from Ziva. He then remembered he had been planning to look for her earlier- although it would be much easier to just ask her where she was over the phone. He answered.

"Ziva! I've been looking for you all morning!" Tony fibbed sweetly into the phone. "You in the mood for a coffee?"

But he didn't get the cheerful answer he had been expecting. Nor did he get the flirty, sarcastic, intelligent voice that would have answered him under normal circumstances.

"Tony! Thank god!" Ziva whispered in a strangled, strained voice. "I need help!"

"Zi? Where are you?"

"I am in- TONY!" Ziva shrieked into the phone. Tony held the phone closer to his ear as he heard shuffling noises in the background. Then a deeper, slower voice said into the phone,

"You're never going to find her. You can try. But I know how you work. I've tricked you this time." He heard Ziva trying to say something in the background, then a bang and whimper of pain. Tony started to say something, anything, into the phone, stalling the conversation until he could pull up a track- but the line clicked off before he got the chance.

He dropped the phone onto his desk, shocked.

There was only one thing to do now. Call Gibbs.

* * *

A/N: Alright. That's the first chapter. I'm thinking an update will be here in the next 2-3 days. Sooner if you review! Constructive critsism/compliments (even better!) are welcome, as are any other comments. As many, many other writers have stated before me: reviews brighten my day.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, I know I barely made my 2-3 day deadline. But what can I say? Homework is homework. It is slightly higher on my list of priorities than this.

I did have a little trouble with this chapter- as it turns out, cliffhangers are not as fun to write about as they are to read. The plot gets a little crazy here- although that is intended- and anything you don't understand will be explained in upcoming chapters. Also, please let me know if any character seems OOC. I sort of suspected it while I was writing but it would be great to know what other people think.

Anyway, enjoy! I hope it was worth the wait.

* * *

But where _was_ Gibbs? Tony hadn't seen him at all this morning. This probably meant that either he was working on his boat in his basement, drunk from too much bourbon from the previous night, fighting with the Director….or….had already been contacted by Ziva and was looking for her right now? Tony prayed that it was the latter, but decided to call just to make sure.

"Boss?" Tony practically yelled into his shaking phone. His chest hurt, and his heart felt like a butterfly trapped in a jar. Not to mention he was sweating even more than he had been before. He knew this feeling- it was exactly the same as when he'd thought Ziva to be dead, far away on in some unknown country.

When he thought about it, Tony realized that might actually be the case now. For all he knew, Ziva could be strapped to the inside of some van, being tortured, on her way to Florida. Or Alaska. Or _Hawaii._ God, this was awful. It had to be the worst Monday in the history of Mondays. The worst Monday of his entire life, probably.

"What, DiNozzo?" Gibbs snapped into the phone, pulling Tony back into reality.

"Uhm- Ziva- well, Boss, Ziva called, just like 3 minutes ago- this guy- but her stuff's still at her desk- so she _can't_ be on her way to Alaska, thank God-"

"_Dinozzo!"_ Gibbs barked, although Tony detected the uneasiness that was coloring his tone. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or do I have to rip it out of your throat?"

Tony grimaced at unpleasant image that had just formed in his mind of Gibbs sticking his fist down Tony's windpipe. And also at the realization that Gibbs didn't know about Ziva's disappearance yet. Damn.

"No, that's okay. I can just tell you. Okay, so I came into work today- by the way, in case you don't know, the AC broke again, I would throw on some shorts if I were you-" Gibbs made in impatient noise on the other end. "Sorry, Boss. So I came into work and noticed that Ziva wasn't here, but figured that she had just gotten into an accident or something on the way to work. Not too uncommon." Tony said, a trivial, strained attempt at humor. He thought it best to eliminate the part about his Tetris discovery and continued. "And then McGee told me he had seen her earlier, so I figured she was just in the bathroom or something. But then she called me. She sounded really scared, Boss. And then this guy took the phone from her….." Tony swallowed, trying to suppress his evident horror. "He said that we never going to find her, and that he knew how we worked. Boss, I really need help over here. I have no idea what to do right now. I have no idea what's going on-"

Interrupting Tony's panicky beginning of a breakdown, Gibbs said quickly but quietly into the phone, "I'm on my way right now. Be there in 5. Call McGee, call Abby. We're gonna need 'em." And then, after a tense, thick pause: "I will find her, Tony. Don't worry." Before Tony responded, Gibbs hung up, and for the second time that morning, Tony experienced the dead, heavy, silent buzz of a phone wasn't be used anymore.

* * *

The five minutes it took the speeding Gibbs to reach NCIS headquarter were probably the five longest minutes of Tony's life. He tried to think about Gibb's sure solution to the problem. He tried not to think about the guy on the phone. Or Abby, or McGee, and their horrified tones they had used after he had notified them of Ziva's diappearence over the phone.

He tried not to think about Ziva. But it was a lot harder than it had been ten minutes ago, when he had been peacefully playing Tetris.

Ziva. A hundred random, short moments whirred through his head. Ziva, holding back tears in Tel Aviv when she knocked him to the ground. Ziva, her shadowy, focused face inches away from his in that small, hot closet at the fake military base. Ziva, crying over a little girl who lost her mother. Ziva, tan, dark eyed and wavy-haired, smiling at him in South America, the worry and confusion in her eyes evident only to him. Laughin at him in LA. Trying not fight the urge for advil at her desk after being attacked. All their talks in the men's room. And finally, Ziva, in her green khaki cargos, t-shirt and headscarf, her face unmarred by makeup, her hair undamaged by a straight iron, her mouth cocked up at the side, teasing him, her black hair pulled up into a messy, careless ponytail, her gorgoues, cynical eyes squinted and clean and curious and fierce and fighting for herself, for Ari, and for her father.

They hadn't known each other then. It was odd, to think of himself as not knowing Ziva. But eventually, the two had gotten to know each other. She had been a part of his life every single day from the time she had first entered the bullpen. They had become partners. They had each others backs, in everything. Ziva cared about him; Tony had cared about her. And Tony suspected that in between the late nights in the bullpen, the life-threatening field work, and the infrequent after-work bar visits that they had begun cared _for_ each other: a mutual attraction, or eagerness, or curiosity. It was something. But he, Tony, had never had the guts to ask anyone about it, least of all Ziva. And now he might never get the chance.

The slap on on the back of his head practically screamed otherwise. Gibbs never gave up. He was the master. He always cracked every case, even the personal ones.

"Hey, Boss. Thought you'd never get here. I've actually been very productive. I called Abby and McGee. Didn't know if I should call Ducky, because she's not dead-" Glibbs silenced him with a pale blue glare.

"When you get nervous, Tony, you ramble. Stop it."

"Yes boss."

"And get Abby and McGee up here. Thought I already told you to do that. You're gonna need to give your phone to them and play back the call, maybe try to identify some background noises. At what time exactly did she call you?"

Tony checked his phone. "8:13, boss. It's 8:20 right now. I really hope she's not in a car. She could be miles away by now."

"It's still a possibility." When Tony sagged, Gibbs ammended staunchly, "Although not a very likely one. She couldn't have gotten far if McGee saw her earlier this morning."

At that moment, McGee and Abby entered the bullpen simultaneously. McGee looked like a nervous wreck. Abby looked like she had been crying. Both immediately started asking questions, but Gibbs interrupted.

"Abby, McGee, get the phone down to the lab. Try to get a voice ID. McGee, see if you can identify any noises in the background that might give us and idea of her location. Get anything out of the phone call that you can. Tony, call security and get the building on lock down ASAP. She still might be here. Also, I want to find out exactly who she saw and where she was this morning. Now."

With a sympathetic, nervous look towards Tony, McGee grabbed the phone and headed back towards the elevator with Abby. Tony picked up his desk phone, his sweaty hand slipping on the smooth handle. _Jesus, _it was hot in here. Tony glanced over towards Gibbs, who looked completely unfazed by the startlingly high temperature in a typical tan suit and neat white shirt. The man wasn't bothered by anything. Except maybe marriage.

After notifying security, Tony retraced his steps from that morning- Ziva entered the building the same way he did. He rode the elevator down to the entrance of the building, exited, and walked out into the parking garage. Ziva's mini was parked a few spots to the left of his. How had he missed that this morning? In fact, why hadn't he documented every little thing she had said over the last few days? Why had he teased her so much?

Thinking about it, Tony realized he felt extremely guilty for teasing Ziva throughout the week about her attempts at gaining American citizenship. In fact, he felt extremely guilty for teasing her about everything he had ever teased her about; the idioms, her secret Israeli boyfriends, the Probie jokes. He wished he could apologize to her before she-

And then Tony heard a noise. It was a shuffling, rolling, clunking noise- descriptions that could have fit hundreds of vehicles, objects or people. His field agent insticts kicking in, he crouched down behind the car directly the right of his own, his breathing heavy and thundering in the still, exhaust-saturated air. Peering over the hood of the car, Tony realized that it was just the maintenance man that cleaned the bullpen and the area around it- Gibbs called him Joe the Janitor. He usually compared "Joe's" excellent cleaning to Tony's or McGee's poor work when they had been sloppy.

Ha.

Tony was about to stand up when he realized the anomaly of the situation- janitors didn't clean parking garages. Crouching back down onto his now aching thighs, Tony contemplated the situation. Either Joe was out for a nice morning stroll, or he had something to take care of. In the parking garage.

The shuffle-roll-clunk of Joe's trashbag/cart thing stopped just a few cars away from Tony's own shelter. Tony held his breath- and suddenly remembered Ziva telling him to do just that when they were squeezed in a closet together, foreheads almost touching.

Then Tony heard the jingle of keys and the unlocking and popping of a car trunk. He heard Joe rummaging around for something in his trashbag. Peering over the hood of the car again, Tony watched Joe pull out a spritzer bottle full of bluish-grayish liquid and spray it into the trunk of the car he had just opened.

Ziva's car.

_Dammit. _

Things were starting to make a little more sense now. The lack of AC, the "I know how you work"....

Tony already had a pretty good idea of what- or who, rather- was in the trunk of the red mini. But he peered over the hood of his hideaway just one more time, and saw a piece of curly brown hair and a limp, pale hand slung over the trunk. Ziva's hair. Her hand. Ziva was folded inside of her own trunk, unmoving.

Thoughts didn't even begin to flow or register in Tony's mind as he stood up from behind the car and moved towards Ziva. All he felt was a need to get to her, to feel her white wrist for a pulse. Reason was ebbing from his mind like a receding tide, leaving nothing but wet sand in its wake. He had to get to her.

And just as he passed his car and the one directly the left of it, Joe turned around, a gun in his steady hand.

"Don't move."

Tony held up his hands, looking over Joe's shoulder at Ziva. He could see the faint rise and fall of her chest, but no other part of her was moving. Probably due to the cleaning chemicals she had been poisoned with.

Keeping his gun pointed straight at Tony's head, Joe grabbed his left arm and dragged him towards Ziva and her car.

"Get in there."

Tony climbed in. The air inside the trunk was fuzzy and warm and laced with chemicals. Tony gasped in a few last lungfuls of clean air before Joe pushed Ziva's hand back inside and slammed the trunk shut.

For the third time that day, Tony was stuck in a lonely silence- although at least now it wasn't on the other end of a phone.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know. Another cliffhanger. Frustraing. Even for me. But I don't want to cram too much into one chapter. Next chapter (or chapters, if I have time) will definitely be up by Saturday, if not earlier.

Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Alright. Before my surplus of readers (insert sarcasm here) starts attacking me, I am fully aware that I am posting this chapter exactly 2 and 1/2 weeks after I said I would. I know. But in my defense: school has been insane. Exam review, exam practice, and finally, real exams. It's been hell. But there are no excuses.

Anyway, here's the chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Tony quickly evaluated the situation. It wasn't difficult: he was locked in the trunk of a car with Ziva, with limited oxygen, noxious cleaning fumes pressing in on them.

He had to talk to Gibbs. McGee. _Ducky_. Anyone who could help him get out of this mess. But when he reached into his pocket, he realized he had given his phone to McGee. _Dammit_, McGee_._ This was not good. This was not good at all.

"Ziva!" Tony whispered, panicked, into the silence. She didn't answer. How long had she been missing for? About an hour now. Since the cleaning fluids obviously didn't have an immediate effect, she couldn't have been unconscious for that amount of time-right?

But Tony knew he didn't have long until the chemicals started to at least affect his vision or thinking process. Unconsciousness was creeping quietly closer every minute, and he knew that soon he would start to feel it. Especially with his crappy lungs. So first things first: get some clean air.

As Tony maneuvered through, or rather, across, the tiny trunk, trying to distill the air a little, he realized Ziva's legs were bound. He felt for a pulse and placed a hand on her chest to check her breathing, which was steady and shallow. Her mouth was also covered with duct tape. He pulled it off gently, being careful so as to not rip her lips. Suddenly, he was reminded of the morning he had walked in and seen her sleeping at her desk, her face stuck to her copy of the constitution. He smiled and on sudden impulse caressed her clammy cheek.

She didn't stir.

He took a shaky breath and tried to think logically. Right. Clean oxygen. Tony tenderly rolled Ziva to the left side of the trunk. He felt for the bump in the carpeting that rose up on the sides of the trunk that meant the headlight. When he found it, he kicked as hard as he could and felt something loosen. When he tried again, the headlight fell to the ground outside the car with a clatter, leaving a rugged hole where it had been moments before.

Tony bent his face towards the hole and sucked in a breath of gorgeous, pure, parking-garage air. He took a few shorter breaths and leaned back towards Ziva, flipping her back around to the right side of the trunk. Climbing carefully over her, he crawled to the other headlight and kicked it out. Another breath of fresh, exhaust-saturated air. Ahhh. Pulling his nose and mouth back into the trunk, Tony grabbed Ziva by the arms, dragged her somewhat roughly towards to opening and pushed her face up against it. He hoped that a few breaths of fresh would be able to unclog her lungs, just so she could wake up- but he knew there was a slim chance of this occurring without some actual medical help.

Now he just had to figure out how to get them out of here. Shouting out of one of the headlight-holes was an option, if a risky one; although it might attract someones attention, eventually, using up limited oxygen was not a good idea- 6 inch holes in the side of a trunk can only give you so much air. But Tony knew he had to try something, so he put his mouth up to the hole and yelled

"Help!" He could feel beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and out of his eyes like tears. Damn cleaning fluids. "Help!"

After about 5 minutes of shouting "Help!" to no avail, Tony knew he had to try something else. He couldn't count someone walking by, let alone hear his shouting from inside the building.

But they _might_ a gunshot.

Tony's heart leapt with excitement, but swooped back to reality when he realized he had left his gun and badge on his desk.

But....Ziva always carried weapons! Tony felt around her hips and located her gun holster...without a gun in it. He had fully expected this, though- any intelligent kidnapper would have taken her weapon. But Ziva, being Ziva, had multiple weapons, hidden in some _very _strategic places... places now way ol' Joe would know about. Unless Ziva and him knew something Tony didn't.

First Tony checked Ziva's ankles. He found a sleek dagger strapped securly to the inside of her shoe, but no gun. Then, feeling slightly awkward, Tony put his hands on the insides of her thighs. Bingo. His left hand had collided with her back-up Glock. But how the hell was he supposed to get it out of....the inside of her legs?

Only one way he knew. He gently undid Ziva's belt and zipper and slid her pants down to her knees. Keeping his eyes on the knots, he undid the straps and set the gun down by his legs. He quickly pulled her pants back up and zippered them, sweating more profusely than ever.

He picked up Ziva's gun and checked the bullets- plenty were there- and weighed it in his hands. He shot the same thing- perfect.

Only when Tony prepared to shoot did he realize how dangerous this was- the headlight hole gave him a very limited view of the parking lot. What if he hit something-or someone- accidentally? He could try to shoot more holes out of the car trunk, but that would only result in shattered metal and some possibly injuries. Practically the same results as just releasing a bullet out through the headlight if he could find an angle at which to shoot so that minimal glass and metal were broken....

Then he figured it out. If he turned the gun sideways so that it was pointing towards the edge of the trunk, where the lock was, instead of towards the parking garage, he would be able to possibly get someones attention and, if he was lucky, be able to break the lock and pop the trunk open.

The only downside to this was that unless he shot the gun at the perfect angle, he and Ziva would probably die from blunt force trauma. Or by although it was guaranteed that a little metal would, in fact, explode inwards into the trunk, it would be very hard to prevent _all _of it from exploding into the trunk. Hmmm.

Well, it was worth a shot.

"Okay, Ziva. Here we go," Tony muttered to himself. He pushed Ziva away from the headlight hole, as far back into the trunk as she could go. Then he scrambled back with her, shielding her body with his as he positioned the gun so that it was in the opening the headlight had made, barrel facing towards the lock.

One of the first things Tony had been taught when he had learned how to shoot was to keep his eyes open, no matter what. It was natural instinct to close them, but as a cop it was his job to resist and keep his eyes on his target. He couldn't help but squeeze his green-flecked eyes shut now and hope to God this worked.

Tony cupped his fingers into the trigger and pulled.

The sound was deafening. He felt Ziva stir behind him as material spattered all around them and onto the parking garage pavement with defeaning clatters. It was like McGee's keyboard strokes, but 50 billion times worse.

And then he felt the pain as carbon embedded itself into his legs and arms and face, a thousand hornets stinging his skin.

Once the noise had subsided, Tony peeled open his raw eyelids and was met with the sight of a broken, smashed, distorted car trunk. But it was _open._ He didn't think he had ever been happier to see a car door open in his entire life.

As Tony inched towards the gaping hole, his arms and legs screaming in protest and pain, he felt Ziva's hand scratch at his back. Turning his sore neck around towards her, he looked into her open chocolate eyes and heaved an enormous sigh of relief.

He noticed that she was shaking, and turned fully towards her.

"You okay?" He asked gently. She pulled her eyebrows down and looked at him.

"I....am fine," she croaked, in a bare, raw excuse for a voice.

"I know. You always are." Tony smirked halfheartedly. He reached out a hand, to touch her face, her hair, but pulled it back. They were lying in the trunk of a wrecked car, inhaling noxious fumes, pieces of the car embedded everywhere. Pieces of _Ziva's_ car, to be exact. He needed to get them out, before they died of cleaning fluid inhalation or before Ziva realized her car had been destroyed and decided to take it out on him.

"Come on, Ziva. Let's get out of here."

* * *

A/N: Meh. Not too crazy about that one. I literally cranked it out at like midnight last night (while watching Pirates of the Carribean on USA, so I might of been a bit distracted) just because I wanted to get it off my back.

Obviously, this story is going to be continued for a little while more- for just how long, I'm not entirely sure. I mean I can only do so much with this storyline. But that is for me, as a writer, to figure out, and you, as readers, to...not figure out!

Thanks for reading, guys. Drop in a review on your way out!


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